Grace : Interludes
by WriterJC
Summary: Story Complete: A 4 part series of vignettes involving Peter, Paul and Caine. All men of grace.
1. Grace

**Interludes: Grace**

**By Jackee C.******

_Grace: Mercy; clemency. 2. disposition to or an act or instance of kindness, courtesy, or clemency; the quality or state of being considerate or thoughtful.  
  
****_

            Paul Blaisdell forced back a muffled cry of pain as he settled a bit too heavily into the passenger seat of the Stealth. He hoped the sound would pass for a sigh. No such luck. Peter caught it and went into fret overload. 

            "Oh, Jeez! Paul, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking to try to bring you home from the hospital in this car. I should've known. . . ." 

            Paul waved a hand, hoping to forestall the apologetic flood. "I'm fine, Peter. Really. Just sat down too quickly." He offered a smile to back up the words. Never mind 'not minding the pain', it was a hard front to keep up, but he did. 

            Apparently mollified to some degree, Peter dropped the apologies and moved on to fussing with the seatbelt and the position of the chair and was he warm enough? Was he okay? 

            Paul made the appropriate replies, even though they were lost in the rapid-fire flow of Peter's words. Paul bore it. He was sure that at some point Peter had to run out of questions; he just didn't know if he'd be alive to see it.

_            Some days, Paul thought__, it's an. . . interesting experience to be a father._

            Finally satisfied with the seatbelt adjustments, Peter hustled around the car toward the driver's side. Paul held back a sigh as he watched. His son's mouth was in motion the entire time. The monologue continuing as he slid behind the driver's seat. A babbling Peter was an upset Peter. Paul didn't need any guesses to figure out that the source of the trouble was the man who'd just returned after a six month absence. 

            _Might as well take the bull by the horns._

_            "Has Caine said anything about his plans?" he asked quickly when Peter took a breath. There was really no gentle way to lead into the conversation. Judging from Peter's reaction -- an almost imperceptible tightening of his features -- the only gentle way was not to raise the issue at all. Paul was now certain that any question about his father was what his foster son had been carefully avoiding. _

            "He said he'd stick around." Peter shrugged with studied indifference and turned the key in the ignition before pulling away from the curb. He immediately launched into another line of conversation. 

            "You know, this is the first time you've ridden in this car. Smooth huh?"

            Paul figured that now was not the time to let on to his often overly-sensitive son that his newest excuse for an automobile was still too low to the ground for his tastes. A body his age, especially a wounded one, preferred to step out of a car rather than roll out of one. But it didn't matter. He wasn't allowed a word edgewise, anyway. He'd wait. Sooner or later, he'd find out what was bothering Peter. 

            "Are you sure you're warm enough? I could turn up the heat. I know it's cold out. Can you believe it's only October? You know we probably should crank up the heat. The heater in the 'vette wasn't as good as this one. I think winter's. . . " 

            Paul tuned out the words as he considered the young man. So much nervous energy -- it was no wonder he never gained any weight. But beneath all that frantic motion was a focused thinker and a skilled investigator. Sometimes it amazed Paul that Peter was such a good detective when his every emotion was there for the world to see. Like now. Even upset, it was obvious that he very much loved driving. 

            Paul forced back a smile as he thought back to the days when the words Peter and driving put together in a sentence was a frightening proposition. Peter's enthusiasm for being behind the wheel had led to more than a few scares. But Paul was forced to admit that these days Peter was a much more careful driver. He surfaced back into the conversation to find that Peter was still talking about the weather and the car. 

            "It handles like a dream. Even on wet terrain. It's pure driving excitement. . . " 

            _Terrain?__ Pure driving excitement? _

_            "You really ought to borrow this car sometime, Paul. Take Annie for a ride." _

            "No, son, I'll leave that to you." Paul managed to cut in. 

            Peter's rambling slowed, and he nodded, a small smile lighting his features. 

            It was the endearment. Paul knew Peter liked it, probably nearly as much as he liked saying it. During the past months while Caine was away, he, Annie, and the girls had circled the wagons around Peter, reinforcing their family unit. Once they had gotten the bugs out, namely, not letting Peter know they were circling the wagons, he'd soaked up the affection like a sponge. During that time they'd reinstated the old practice of the entire family getting together for dinner once a week. Speaking of dinner. . . 

            Paul cut in on a monologue about winter outerwear. "Oh, Peter. Annie would like for you to invite Caine to dinner this Sunday."

            Peter stopped cold. His smile was gone, and the agitation that had somewhat faded returned full force. "You sure you're going to be up to that?" he asked nervously. 

            "I'll be all right. All I have to do is sit down and eat. It's just dinner, Peter." 

            The high performance engine revved slightly higher as Peter pressed more heavily on the gas. Paul wondered if he was going to have to revise his earlier thoughts about Peter's driving. 

            "I--I don't know if he's free." Peter hedged. 

            Paul had a sinking feeling that he'd inadvertently stumbled on a clue to the problem as he watched Peter make a great show of moving from one lane to the next. He didn't think he needed to say that it was an unnecessary move considering their exit was coming up. The lane change had been mostly legal, and they'd have time to get back over. Peter's speed though was edging into warning territory.

            "I'm sure it doesn't have to be this week. I know he's just gotten back in town." Paul spoke soothingly. "I know you really haven't had a chance to spend much time with him, and you probably want him all to yourself for a little while. We can understand that." He hoped the words were the right ones to say, that they'd calm Peter. 

            Suddenly, Peter backed off on the gas, and the vehicle slowed. "I'm sorry, Paul. It's not that. It's. . . I didn't mean to put you off like that." 

            "No apologies necessary. You've been through a lot of stress these past few days." 

            Peter snorted. "I wasn't the one who was attacked by some Shadow Assassin whose only reason for hurting you was to hurt me so that he could flush out my father. He certainly did a fine job of doing what I couldn't do." 

            "Your father came back, Peter." It was all Paul could think to say. He and Caine were very different in a lot ways, but there were similarities, too. He knew what it was like to be at a point in one's life where you needed to get away, to just clear the decks and learn to breathe again. 

            "Yeah." Petered muttered the word with a soft bite of sarcasm. "And I should probably just count my blessings, right?" 

            "Maybe you should," Paul replied. "Didn't you just tell me he was back to stay?" He wondered that he often ended up defending Caine. He didn't doubt that Caine would step up to the plate and defend him if the need ever arose. He hoped that it wouldn't, but he'd lived long enough to know things were rarely smooth sailing.

            Peter nodded in response to his question, then half-mumbled, "He said he wanted to get to know his son." The words weren't spoken with the warmth Paul expected to hear, but with an edge of bitterness. 

            "Listen, Peter. I know you and your father have a lot to work out and talk through. Getting to know one another again sounds like a very good place to start." 

            Peter shifted in his seat and was silent for several moments. Paul knew that there was something more coming, and whatever it was, it was bad. He waited. It seemed the more important a thing was with Peter, the longer it took for it to come out. 

            Eventually Peter spoke very softly, his face reddened with embarrassment. "That's going to be pretty hard to do if I don't even know where he lives."

            Paul was confused. "You mean he hasn't found a place yet?" 

            Peter frowned slightly and shook his head. "I hadn't thought of that. But the thing is, he told me that I would be able to find him since I was a cop. Well I've been looking for two days, and I don't know where the hell he is." 

            Paul had to admit that if this was Caine's idea of bonding, it was very unusual, especially considering the changes he and Peter had just experienced. "Where have you looked so far?" he asked. 

            Peter rattled off a long list of places, some that Paul didn't even know existed in Chinatown. "I even checked with Donny Double D," Peter concluded. "Best I can tell he doesn't want to be bothered right now." 

            Paul frowned. Caine usually wasn't difficult to find. "What about The Ancient? Did you ask him?"

            "I would have, but he's been avoiding me, too. Usually, whenever I need him, he's right there." 

            Paul nodded as Peter turned onto the-tree lined street that led into the neighborhood where the Blaisdell home was located. He knew that The Ancient had done his own version of circling the wagons around Peter during Caine's absence. He couldn't image what reason the two men could have for pushing Peter away. 

            He thought again. Where could Caine be? Normally all one had to do was. . . The answer was suddenly very clear. Ignoring the small ache that went through his body at the motion, Paul chuckled.  

            Peter turned a stunned gaze on him. 

            "I think you've only got one option, kid." 

            "What is it?" Peter waited wide-eyed for the response. 

            Paul didn't make him wait long. "Go to Chinatown, ask for Caine. . . " 

            ". . . he will help you." Peter finished with him, chuckling, too. "God. Only Pop. And only you could help me see that."  

            Paul smiled, glad to see the worry lift from his son's features. He briefly rested a gentle hand against his shoulder for good measure. 

            _Some days, he thought, __it's wonderful to be a father.     _

  



	2. Grace Returned

**Interludes: Grace Returned **

            Kwai Chang Caine paused at the sound of a step in the outer corridor. He knew without turning, the identity of his visitor. And the emotions which washed over him in buffeting waves, were not entirely unexpected. He sensed them to some degree for most of the day and had thus been expecting this meeting. But it was the lack of the customary 'Pop? You here?' that caught his attention the most, causing him to look up from his task of crushing dried herbs toward the doorway with a frown. 

            Peter stood several paces inside of the room, a look of quiet anguish on his features. For a moment, he seemed to lean slightly in his direction, as if he meant to move toward him. But he didn't. Instead he murmured a quiet, "Hi Pop. Thought I'd . . . come by for a visit." 

            Caine's frown deepened. "You are always welcome here, Peter. You know that." He immediately began to brush the dusty green remnants of the herb from his fingers. His son required all of his attention. 

            "Look. . . you're busy," Peter gestured toward the bowls and implements that sat on the low table. "I don't want to interrupt. I could come back some other time." 

            Peter was already turning and headed back toward the doorway before Caine called after him. "I would be honored if you would assist me?" 

            Peter glanced back at him, his look skeptical. 

            Caine picked up a small bowl and held it in his son's direction. "Shall I take your reluctance as refusal? I assure you, you will not find the aroma unpleasant." 

            Peter offered an anemic half-smile that did not reach his eyes and moved back into the room. He reached slowly across the table for the proffered bowl, never quite meeting his father's gaze. For several long moments afterward, he simply stood and stared into the empty container, seemingly at a loss.  

            Caine followed his son's motions with growing concern. The silence spoke of the depth of pain that burdened his heart. Peter, who railed and cried out at injustice and tragedy and suffering, withdrew when the victim was his own soul. Such emotion, so tightly guarded and contained, yet it leaked from his very pores. Helplessness in the face of a child's pain was a father's greatest fear. 

            Instinct prompted Caine to move around the table so that he would be closer. Proximity could be its own comfort, especially when one was unsure of how to proceed. He did not wish to somehow push Peter away as he had several days earlier. Though he had reviewed the incident in his mind, he had arrived at no conclusion as to how he might have better handled the situation. 

            Peter had arrived, similarly upset, and Caine had agreed to spar with him, thinking that the physical activity would relieve the tension caused by the incident at the Blaisdell home the previous evening. The exercises had not gone well. Peter remained tense and distracted until Caine had felt compelled to dig deeper.  

            Peter's response had been passionate.  

            "_Can't you just say anything straight out? I mean, at least when Blaisdell says something, you know where he stands. He lays it on the line. Why can't you just say, 'What troubles you son?'"_

_            Perhaps this time he should do as Peter had suggested and just lay it on the line. But somehow, that did not seem correct, for he already knew what troubled his son. There was no herb or _ChiGong_ technique that could ease the pain, and Caine was not sure that he had any words of wisdom with which to soothe the way ahead. _

            Despite memories of having been left behind while his own father traveled many years past and ironically, having left Peter a year prior to embark on his own journey, there was nothing that he considered of use. He felt inadequate to the task and would simply have to feel his way as best he could.  

            Caine came to a stop at Peter's side and removed the bowl from his grasp. Peter immediately pushed his hands deeply into his pockets before glancing sideways at him. 

            "Sorry. I'm a little distracted." 

            "Yes." Caine settled the bowl on the table and decided to open the conversation, but to allow his son to determine its direction. He could think of no way to preface the statement. "Captain Blaisdell came to visit me this morning."  

            Peter turned sharply, surprise showing on his face. For a moment Caine thought he saw an edge of hope, but then the expression morphed to resigned realization. "Yeah, that's Paul. I should have known that he would've come to see you. He always covers all the bases." He paced away a step and began to fiddle with a broken spot on the edge of the table. "He happen to tell you where he was going?" 

            "He did not." 

            Peter glanced in his direction with a humorless chuckle. "And if he did and asked you not to tell, you wouldn't would you?"

            Caine remained silent. The question did not require an answer. He continued to study his son as the forced smile quickly fell away. It was obvious to his trained father's eye that his son had more to say, that he searched for a way to put into words the things that he was feeling. He didn't need to hear them to know that they caused a tight band of pain around Peter's heart. Caine felt it with him. But to say the words was to release the pain, and Peter needed the release. 

            Finally he spoke, pacing as he did so. "We had a family meeting last night, and he told us that he had to go away." Peter stopped and glanced at him almost sheepishly before continuing. "I can usually talk to him about anything, anything at all. But I couldn't talk to him last night. I just couldn't say anything. I . . . I thought that there would be more time, but he's leaving today. Tonight. That's why he's at the precinct right now packing up his office, saying goodbye to everyone. I couldn't be there for that." 

            Caine spoke carefully. "Sometimes when we know that a thing will be painful, it is better to do it quickly to shorten the suffering." 

            "But why does he have to leave at all? Why can't he just stay here? I don't understand. If he's in trouble, why can't he come to us for help? Hell, he's got friends and connections that probably even Kermit doesn't know about.

            "His family's here. The people who love him are here. Every cop at the precinct would willingly put their life on the line to save him."

            Caine shrugged. "Perhaps for those very reasons he must go. To stay may mean danger for his family and friends. In his other life, things were very different. Strange alliances were made. There are times when our past comes back to haunt us, when we must battle those demons before we can go on." 

            "I can understand the battle, Pop. But why does he have to do it alone?" Peter's eyes widened, tear-bright, reflecting his desperate need for knowledge. 

            Caine felt something twist within himself as he stared into that gaze. All of his protective instincts clamored to be heard. He wanted very much to spare his son this pain. But he could not.              

            Paul Blaisdell was an honorable man, one who cared very deeply for his son. Though they were very different in many ways, Caine could not help but acknowledge the similarities. He could not ignore the fact that he had once walked the path that Blaisdell had yet ahead of him. And despite that experience, he could not give his son the answers he sought. Only life and experience could. And though he hoped that Peter would never gain that experience, he knew that it was a useless desire. Life's cycles had a way of repeating themselves.  

            "All things are not for us to understand," he finally said. "When the battle rages on within ourselves, that is often where we must go to fight it. It is not a fight that another can assist in." 

            Peter seemed to deflate. His shoulders slumped and he bowed his head. "I don't want him to go," he said softly. 

            "I know, my son." Caine placed a hand on his arm, soothing. "He has been a very important factor in your life and will remain so. He acted as father for you when I could not. I am grateful beyond words for that. But you must let him go, to allow him to do what he must do. Just as a year ago, you allowed me to do what I had to do." 

            Peter looked up at him then. His eyes, already misty, filled with tears. Caine's filled in response. 

            "All right, I can do that. I'll let him go. He doesn't need me trying to hang on to him anyway."

            "No, my son. That is not why. You have much love in your heart. You touch the lives of those with who surround you. You have grown into a man of great honor and courage. Both I and your foster father are very proud of you. It is very difficult for a father to part from a son such as yourself." 

            Peter's voice choked as he pulled Caine into a hug. "I love you, Pop." 

            "As I love you, my son." Caine smiled slightly. The band across Peter's heart was not so tight as it had been before, the deep emotions not so overwhelming. It was a first step. 

            Pushing back from Peter, he glanced quickly toward the door. "Your other father will be here in a few minutes. I will leave now so that you may talk." 

            Peter nodded and headed toward the balcony. Caine watched until he stepped through the doors, and then moved off toward the kitchen. 

            When Caine had completed preparations in the kitchen, he entered the balcony from the far door. He caught sight of Peter and Blaisdell in an emotional embrace. Not wishing to interrupt, he waited until they said their final goodbyes before approaching. 

            He placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder, wanting him to know that he wasn't alone. "When he has conquered his loneliness, and the demons have stopped chasing him, he will be back, my son." 

            "You sure about that?" Peter asked, his eyes never leaving the door through which Blaisdell had disappeared. 

            "I came back." Caine said the only words he could offer as hope. 

            Peter turned then and allowed himself to be pulled into a tight embrace. He knew that his son was near the breaking point, but still held his emotions very tightly. Releasing him, he turned and led him inside out of the cold. It was time to take a second step. 

            "I have prepared a tea for us," he said, gesturing toward the set table. "I was hoping that we might talk. There are some things that I would like to tell you and that I was hoping that you might tell me."  

            Peter looked at him for a long moment, and Caine began to wonder if his son might object. But then Peter smiled slightly, a myriad of emotions playing across his face. His eyes shone with the love reflected in his heart as he settled into one of the chairs and spoke huskily. "I'd like that, Pop. I'd really like that."

            Caine smiled and allowed his gaze to linger just a moment longer. To be able to relieve a child's pain, in even a small way, was a father's greatest joy. ****

**  
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	3. Grace Redeemed

**Interludes: Grace Redeemed**

The place hadn't changed in over a decade. It still looked like some huge hulking monstrosity, rising out of the forest to devour the unworthy and unwanted. Winter-bare trees, a dull gravel driveway, and an old faded sign proclaiming the site as Rock Creek Boy's Home only added to the gloom. 

It gave Peter Caine the creeps. He imagined that somehow the imposing structure had leeched the life out of everything it touched, including the heavy gray clouds overhead that spoke eloquently of the winter storm that the weather announcers had been boasting about. 

He shuddered, just as he had so many years ago when the well-intentioned social worker had delivered him with nothing more than two changes of clothing and an attitude to his name. It had been dark and gloomy that day, too. He remembered the pain, the anger and the confusion just like it was yesterday. Childish, impotent rage that he couldn't do something to change things. So many memories. So much loneliness for a kid who was different but wanted nothing more than to be accepted. 

Again he approached this place. Again, he had lost a father; a different one this time. He almost laughed at the irony. He'd been taken to the orphanage just weeks after Kwai Chang Caine supposedly died at the temple. And now, just weeks after Paul departed for parts unknown, he was back here again. But this time was different. This time it was on his own terms. And he had back up. 

Glancing into the passenger seat, he wondered that his father hadn't spoken. Not that Kwai Chang Caine was exactly what one would call talkative, but Peter would have expected him to have at least a few words of wisdom on approaching the orphanage that his kid had been sent to after the greatly exaggerated news of his death. 

Then he caught the look on his father's face and knew differently. Caine stared resolutely forward, as if preparing himself for what lay ahead. 

"Starting to wonder if ignorance is bliss?" Peter asked, smiling slightly at the look his father gave him in response. Either the mood had seriously needed lightening, or his father was beginning to appreciate his sense of humor. The fact that Caine had invited himself along, to the point of actually waiting outside of the precinct near his car, was another oddity. Peter figured that Skalany was probably the one who'd ratted on him. But he still wasn't clear on how Mary Margaret might have found out. Strenlich wasn't exactly gossip central.

Peter had happened to be walking past the Chief's partially closed door when the older man had taken the call from Rock Creek Boy's Home confirming Blaisdell's annual appointment. Frank had been in the midst of explaining that he was sorry but Blaisdell would not be able to make it this year, when Peter had burst in and volunteered. He still didn't know what had come over him, only that something had pushed him in that direction.

Unfazed by Frank's harsh look, he'd waited around while the older man relayed the information that another officer would be taking Paul's place this year. After Frank had jotted the information down, Peter had quickly snatched it up and with a quick thanks exited the office. He still wasn't sure he'd actually heard the words he thought Frank had whispered before he pulled the door closed. 

_Do him proud, kid. _

Peter didn't know how he felt about the fact that Paul had continued to visit the boy's home every year without ever letting on to him. Obviously Frank knew. Annie probably knew. Either way, it felt right that he should be the one here doing this in Paul's place. 

"This is an honorable thing that you are doing, my son." Caine spoke, breaking into his thoughts. "It is a worthy legacy to seek to assist others." 

"You really didn't have to come along, you know," Peter responded as he pulled the car to a halt near the front of the main building. "I mean, it is a little creepy seeing this place again, but the nightmare isn't so big as when I was twelve and alone. I could have handled it." 

"I know. I wanted to come, and besides, I did not want you to have to face the memories alone." 

Peter thought about that. Even though he remembered vividly his time at this place, the memory was different. It wasn't a living, breathing thing that he feared would choke the life out of him. His raised his brows in surprise. 

"I'm starting to realize something. Those memories don't have the power to hurt me any longer. I still don't like that it happened, but I'm okay. And I guess I realize, too, that a few good things happened here." 

Caine smiled one of his 'I am proud of you, my son' smiles and patted the arm nearest him. "Tell me of these 'good things'". 

"Well." Peter grinned over at him. "I learned how to play basketball." 

"Ah." Caine's eyes twinkled. "Sports." 

"Yeah, sports," Peter chuckled, remembering that organized physical activity had been both his downfall and his salvation. It was truly amazing the number of fights that could get started over a game. But then his smile faded slightly. "I met Paul here." His gazed drifted out of the window as the first pinging sounds of the promised snow and ice tingled against the roof. "I still miss him." 

"Yet he remains with you. In your heart." 

"Yeah." Peter nodded. In the past weeks he'd wondered often where Paul was, what he was doing, if he was okay. There had been no word. Sometimes the thought of him out there, fighting, on his own or even with a group, filled him with panic. What if something happened to him? How would they get word?

Shaking the thoughts off, he glanced up at the building through his windshield and then looked toward his father. "We should probably go inside before they think we're casing the joint." 

Caine, having followed his gaze out of the window, nodded toward the building. "Or before she feels it necessary to call the cops." 

Peter turned sharply back toward the heavy gray door at the top of a flight of stone steps. A short, red-haired woman with cherubic features stood watching out of the doorway. "Good point," he said as he climbed out of the vehicle and headed alongside his father, through the freezing rain toward the stone steps. 

The woman, evidently not fearing that they were up to no good, pulled the door open wider so that they could escape the growing force of the frozen precipitation. Peter's gaze was captured by the many colorful murals that decorated the once drab walls of the open foyer.

"I hope we're not late," he said just as he noticed the large banner draped near the ceiling of the high foyer that proclaimed it career week at Rock Creek Boy's Home. The banner was the only familiar point of reference about the room -- appearing to be the same one that had hung in that very spot so many years before.

Immediately, Peter's mind took him back to another career week. The memory was so vivid, he could still smell the perspiration and hear the sound of sneakers squeaking on the gymnasium floor. He remembered looking back up toward the observation deck after having uttered some smart-mouthed comment about getting out of math class. Paul had still been standing there and he was still smiling. 

Most of the time comments like the ones he'd given Paul either got him psycho-analyzed or reprimanded. Being accepted, or just simply heard was a different experience than he had expected from the majority of the adult population at Rock Creek. There had to be an angle -- there usually was. Peter had shaken his head in confusion and gone back to his game, thinking that he'd have to really pay attention in the lecture. He might even have to hit Blaisdell with some really tough questions until he could figure out what that angle was.

"Peter." A hand on his arm drew him out of his reverie. 

He blinked and glanced toward his father who made a gesture in the direction of the redhead. "I'm sorry. . . I was gone for a minute there." 

"Oh, it's quite all right." The woman smiled knowingly up at him with a twinkle in the palest blue eyes Peter had ever seen. "It happens to the best of us. I'm Angela Raybern, Youth Acclimator is the official title. You must be Detective Peter Caine." 

Peter took the hand she extended in his direction, finding something comforting in the warmth of her manner. He had no doubt that she was a natural when it came to dealing with the youth who graced the interior of the facility. She might have been able to punch through his twelve-year-old walls in no time flat if she'd been around when he'd been there.

"Yes, I am Peter Caine, from the 101st precinct." Peter gestured toward his father. "And this is my father, Kwai Chang Caine." 

"And you represent the 101st as well?" 

"No." Caine bowed slightly with a smile and pointed in Peter's direction. "I represent him." 

Peter couldn't resist a chuckle at the woman's look of charmed confusion. "He's here for moral support. He'll just be an observer if that's okay." 

"It's perfectly fine with me. They can be a tough crowd." 

"Don't I know it," Peter murmured, then quickly changed the subject. "Listen, I'd like to apologize that Captain Blaisdell couldn't make it, and that this switch happened on such short notice." 

Angela frowned slightly and gestured that they follow her along the corridor. "Would you like the fifty cent tour? You still have another three quarters of an hour until your lecture is due to began." 

Peter glanced toward his father, who bore an expression of intense concentration. He paused. "Something wrong?" 

Caine's expression cleared and he smiled. "I would like to remain here, if I may?"

Peter cast a quick apologetic smile toward Angela Raybern and pulled his father to the side. "What's going on, Pop?," he murmured. "Do you sense something I should know about? I thought you didn't want me to face these memories alone?" 

"Of course, your pain is my pain, my son," Caine replied somewhat cryptically. "And your joy, my joy. My heart goes with you. Please, enjoy your tour. Everything will be fine." 

Peter eyed him intently, trying to figure out what his father was up to and why. But Angela was waiting for him, and his father could be tight-lipped. "You're going to explain this to me later," he pointed a finger at him. 

Caine bowed slightly. 

Having no choice but to take that as a yes, Peter turned back toward Angela and followed her along the corridor. As they continued along, he wondered if he should come clean about his past history with the place. Just as he opened his mouth to 'fess up, Angela spoke. 

"I've been here for five years," she confided. "In that time, Paul Blaisdell has come on Wednesday of every career week without fail. He's never missed once. Staff legend has it that he came for years before that. When he came, it wasn't about career options, it was about the fact that each and every kid in the room, regardless of his background, could become anything that he wanted. I've always admired him for that." 

Peter smiled faintly, suddenly missing Paul all the more. "Yeah, he's one of the good guys." 

"There is something else Blaisdell did every time he came," Angela directed him down another corridor that Peter remembered leading to the cafeteria and the recreation room. "There is a marking wall. I'm not quite sure how it got started, but every kid who has been in and out of this place in probably the past twenty years has his name scratched or written up there. He always visits that wall." 

Peter remembered the wall. There had been quite a few names on it during his time at Rock Creek. He had refused to sign it, even though Kyle had squared off a space with permanent marker and labeled it 'reserved for Peter Caine'. When he'd left, he'd vowed never to return. Leaving some mark on a stupid wall had been the last thing he wanted.

"That marking wall is through here," Angela was speaking again as she directed his attention toward the door that he knew well. The marking wall was in the very back of the room. 

Angela stood back and allowed him to enter first. 

Peter stepped into the room, noticing first off that the decor had changed drastically to more modern furnishings than those that he remembered. But then, before he could focus on specifics, his attention was caught by a form at the back of the room. 

Paul. 

His vision tunneled to that one spot. He didn't hear Angela quietly leave, or the door softly shut. He didn't even remember weaving his way across the room. He only knew that his next conscious thought was when he had his arms wrapped around his foster father, squeezing him tightly. 

"Paul, what are you doing here? I thought. . . I mean. . . I. . . " He pulled back and grasped his shoulders, assuring himself that he was really there. 

"One word at a time," Paul said, chuckling. 

Peter choked back a laugh and just looked at him. There was still a tenseness about him, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. His smile faded. "You're not back to stay are you?" 

Paul shook his head. "No, I'm not, son. This is simply an appointment I've kept for eighteen years, although it's not common knowledge. But I see that it's in good hands now." 

"I didn't come here to take over your job," Peter said quickly. "I just talked to one of the . . . the. . . to Angela, and she talks about how much she admires what you've done with the kids here. No one can do this like you can Paul. You even got through to me, and I've been told that I'm pretty hard-headed." 

"Yeah you are pretty hard-headed," Paul chuckled as he reached up and ruffled his hair. "But you'll do fine, Peter. You don't need me for this." 

"But I do need you, Dad. I've missed you these past weeks." 

"No." Paul shook his head, smiling a sad sweet smile. "No you don't. You'll do wonderful, kid. You're going to leave your mark on this place and do your old foster dad proud."

Peter sighed and smiled at the man he loved like a father. He wouldn't push anymore. "So what do you come to this wall for anyway?" 

Paul turned toward the wall. "I see how many of the names I recognize, try to remember some of them." 

"There sure are a lot names," Peter murmured, reaching for a black permanent marker than was hung from the wall by a string. "But I think one is missing." After several moments of scribbling he turned from the wall. "Now, I have to give this lecture on police work in about a half hour. Can you stay? Maybe talk for a little while before you go?" 

"I wouldn't miss it." 

Peter moved to the back of the meeting room as the crowd began to break up. For the most part, the entire program had gone much more smoothly than he'd expected. Of course, there were a few smart mouths in the group, but fortunately, he'd had a lot of experience with smart mouths. The fact that his father and Paul were standing at the back of the class should have made him nervous, but oddly, it hadn't. The one rough spot had been when he was wrapping things up and Paul had mouthed the words 'I love you, son' before turning toward the exit. Peter had lost his train of thought then. If his voice wavered slightly after that, he hoped that the quick clearing of his throat was cover enough. 

"You knew he was here, didn't you?" he asked as he approached his father. 

"I may have suspected," Caine shrugged. 

"But. . . how. . ?" Peter shook his head. "Nevermind. So what were you two whispering about back here?" 

Caine smiled. "Merely words of encouragement for a man who has a difficult journey ahead. And perhaps a few proud boastings between fathers." 

Peter felt warmed by the words. "He's gone?" He had to ask the question, though he knew it was so. 

"You will see him again, my son." 

"I know," he said, hearing the hope in his own voice. Then turning to look about the room, he drew in a deep breath and released it. "I guess we'd better get out of here or we're going to be snowed in for the night." 

Minutes later, he pulled carefully away from the building. The snow was falling in earnest now, but he was sure he could make it home before things got too much worse. 

As he made his final turn out onto the narrow lane that had led to Rock Creek Boy's Home, he looked into the rear view mirror. Nope, the big hulking monstrosity hadn't changed over the years, but he had. It no longer gave him the creeps. It gave him hope. Hope that he could help someone else the way that he'd been helped. It also made him thankful to have been blessed with two such fathers as Kwai Chang Caine and Paul Blaisdell. 


	4. Grace Full Circle

**Grace: ****Full Circle******

**          Paul Blaisdell moved along the tunneled connection from the airplane to the airport terminal. The couple in front of him, weighted down with far more carry-on luggage than any one person could ever use, plodded on. He wondered that such a short journey could take so long.  **

            Already he could feel the difference in temperature. Funny that just a year living 'down south' could spoil him for the cold. But when Peter had left a message, murmuring something about big changes in his life, and could he come down to his and Annie's for a visit, Paul had immediately picked up the phone and tried to return his call. After 8 hours of nothing beyond an answering machine at Peter's apartment and an almost collective 'you should talk to Peter' from Kermit, Strenlich, Blake, and Broderick, he'd booked a reservation on the next flight out. 

            Now, if he could just get around the log jam, he could grab a rental car and go find Peter. The only times in the past the kid -- who was he calling a kid, Peter was thirty now -- was difficult to find was when he was in trouble. Or hiding out. Paul wasn't sure what it would be this time. Peter's voice hadn't sounded overly upset on the voice mail, but he'd changed so much over the past year since he'd completed his Shaolin training. Sometimes he could be downright low-key. _Okay, low key for Peter._

            "Excuse me." Paul couldn't take it anymore. He brushed cautiously around the couple in front of him, careful not to jostle them too much and then he was free of the tunnel. The terminal was much busier than he'd expected, and the line at the rental desk didn't look like it could be navigated in anything approaching a reasonable amount of time. And he just couldn't wait. He hit the cab stand out front and gave the driver the address to Peter's apartment. 

            The town was just the way he remembered and yet different. They'd widened Summer Mill Road, and they were building new condos near the edge of Chinatown. Peter had totaled his first car on Summer Mill. Come to think of it, he'd severely damaged his third one there as well. Both times had something to do with a woman, if he remembered correctly. 

            Could that be it? Hadn't Peter said that he was seeing an officer steadily? A Jordan somebody? God, could Peter be planning to get married? Or children? Paul smiled at that thought. Another grandchild would do his heart good. 

            If Peter was planning to marry, Paul was sure it would be much more serious than it had been with Tyler. Peter was so much more mature. As he'd been with Rebecca. Paul regretted deeply that he'd been too far away to help when the trouble had arisen surrounding Rebecca Calvert's murder. In fact, he'd been under such deep cover that it had been a month before he'd even heard the news. 

            He'd missed so many things back then. But he had arrived back home in time to welcome his first grandchild into the world. Shortly after, Todd and Carolyn had been transferred to Florida. Kelly had gone off to college at Florida State. And then with Peter planning to be gone for an indeterminate amount of time to learn more about his Shaolin side, it had seemed only natural to _temporarily_ relocate. Somehow temporary had stretched to a year. 

            Could Peter be feeling neglected? Despite the fact that they spoke often, at least once a week, they hadn't visited in over three months. Worse, maybe he was ill? Hadn't Peter's mother died of some mysterious ailment when she was Peter's age? 

            Paul felt his heart drop to his feet. That couldn't be it. He wouldn't even think about that. He deliberately pushed that thought out of his mind and tried to focus on the scenery outside of the window. 

            As the cab pulled past the street where Caine's old kwoon had been four years prior, he waved to the cabbie and directed him toward the elder Caine's current abode. Caine would know where Peter was and what was going on with him. Besides, Caine's place was closer, and maybe he'd be better prepared to deal with the problem if he spoke with Caine first. 

            He already had his money ready when the cab pulled to a halt at the front of the building. He made quick work of moving across the snow covered sidewalk toward the front door. 

            Upstairs, the door to the outer corridor closed quietly behind him as he tried to determine where to start looking for Peter's father. 

            "Paul?" 

            Paul froze at the sound of the familiar voice and then quickened his pace toward the direction of the voice. He arrived to find Peter standing in the middle of the room alone. Caine was nowhere in sight. 

            "What are you doing here?" Peter approached and the two of them embraced. "Is Mom with you?"

            "No," Paul shook his head, still trying to calm his heart at seeing Peter looking relatively well. "I got your message, son. I tried to call, but when I couldn't get through to you or anyone at the precinct who'd give me a straight answer, I decided to come here. I figured Caine could tell me something, or at least let me know that you were okay." 

            "I'm sorry," Peter apologized. "I didn't mean to worry you. I'm fine. Really. I just wanted to talk to you." 

            "You're sure you're okay?" Paul looked at him closely. Unless he was mistaken, Peter's eyes were a little bright as if he'd been fighting tears recently. And despite the layer of calm that seemed to surround him, his practiced father's eyes noted the small signals that said that there was something more going on. 

            "I'm okay." Peter reaffirmed. Paul knew that there was more. 

            "The beginning is usually a great place," Paul hinted. 

            Peter's brow drew together in confusion. 

            "To start," Paul suggested with a small hopeful smile. 

            "Oh, yeah." Peter returned the smile and Paul immediately felt relieved. If Peter could smile, how bad could it be? An engagement definitely wasn't it. Maybe a broken one? Or was he turned down by Jordan?

            "I guess the most of it you already know," Peter started, pacing as he went. "All the way up until I decided to complete my Shaolin training." 

            Paul nodded, not certain of where this was going. "I remember when you came back. I remember how proud I was of you that you'd been able to meld the gifts of both your fathers."

            Peter chuckled. "Yeah I became a Shaolin cop." His expression sobered. "Back then I think I was more cop than Shaolin. But that changed gradually over the past year." 

            Paul thought he was beginning to understand. "Now you feel more Shaolin than cop?" 

            Peter didn't answer with words, but merely rolled up his sleeves and presented his bent arms. 

            Paul was stunned. "My God, Peter." He stared down at the angry raised marks in the shape of the tiger and the dragon. They looked so fresh, new. He lifted a hand above them, but didn't touch them. 

            "Does it hurt?" 

            "Like hell." 

            "I'll bet," Paul chuckled. This he could handle. "Does it make you feel any different?" 

            Peter didn't return his smile this time, but merely re-buttoned his shirt sleeves. "I resigned from the police force." 

            Paul blinked. "You resigned?" This was the last thing he'd expected. Sometimes he wondered that Peter wasn't born to be a cop. And when he saw how Caine often acted as protector, he figured that it was simply genetic. No, this wasn't what he'd expected at all. 

            Peter wouldn't meet his gaze. His response was a nod and a subdued, "I know you're disappointed, and I'm sorry to spring all of this stuff on you like this." 

            Fatherly warnings started going off in Paul's head. As soon as he got over being speechless he would address them. He simply couldn't quite fathom Peter not wanting to be a cop. He'd thought, if anything, the outcome of the completion of his Shaolin training had proven that. 

            "I'm sorry I disappointed you," Peter repeated as the silence stretched. He gaze edged up to meet Paul's and then flittered away. The deep sadness there tugged at Paul's heart, drawing him out of his momentary stupor. 

            "I'm not disappointed in you," Paul hastened to reassure him. "It's just that I'm surprised. I wasn't expecting this, and I don't understand why you left." 

            Peter shrugged in a manner that seemed so reminiscent of Caine that for a panicked moment, Paul began to wonder if he knew his son any more at all. But then, Peter look at him with a patented Peter Caine plea for understanding. "There were some things going on. I broke the cop's code and went after a fellow officer. A dirty one. But aside from that, it was time for me to leave, to take a step back and assess my life. See where I was going." 

            Paul wanted to ask why he hadn't tried a leave of absence over turning in his badge, but thought better of it. There was something in Peter's tone that told him that there was a deeper meaning behind the words. Paul wasn't sure what it was -- he wasn't even sure that Peter knew. 

            He began to wonder about his role in Peter's career choice. Had Peter remained a cop for him? That Peter had followed in his line of work had been flattering, and Peter had been so eager to please once he'd accepted that he was a part of the family. Paul wondered if he had pushed in any way. "Do you regret it?" he asked. "Becoming a cop, I mean." 

            Peter chuckled slightly.  "That's funny. Pop asked me the same question, only in reverse. No, I don't regret ever becoming a cop. Not a bit." 

            Paul eased out a breath, hoping that Peter didn't catch it. But he had to be sure. "So you never felt forced in anyway?"

            Peter's look turned confused. "No Paul. Of course not. Even at the temple I secretly thought about how cool it would be to become a cop. I think being a police officer was a necessary part of my path." 

            Paul eyed the young man whom he'd seen grow from an insecure adolescent to a capable, strong, and honorable man. It touched him deeply just to look at him and see the growth and know that maybe, in some small way, he'd had a part in it. 

            "That sounds almost like something your father would say." 

            Peter offered a small sad smile. "Yeah." 

            Paul pressed a hand against Peter's shoulder. "I've always been proud of you, son. I can't say your decision to leave the force doesn't come as a surprise but I support you. Wherever your path leads you. You're going to make one hell of a Shaolin priest." 

            Peter's smile broadened and they moved into a hug. "Thanks Paul," he whispered. Paul wasn't sure, but he thought his voice was a bit husky, and more than a little subdued. 

            Paul patted his back and pulled out of the embrace. "So what's the new phrase going to be?" he asked jokingly. "Come to Chinatown, ask for Caine, and they will help you?" 

            Peter's smile faltered, and Paul's heart plummeted. _Oh God, what else?_

            "You just missed, Pop," Peter said. "He's left on a journey." 

            Paul's heart melted in sympathy. He might not understand what it meant to be Shaolin, but he knew that the step of taking the brands had been a big one for Peter; equally as big as resigning. That was a lot to deal with in a few short days. Caine had to have had a very good reason for leaving. 

            "Has he gone to find his path again?" Paul asked. 

            "No. My mother." 

            Paul's brows rose in surprise. "Forgive me, Peter. But I thought your mother died a very long time ago." 

            Peter shrugged. "That may not be the truth. He's going to go find out." 

            Paul had absolutely no idea what to do with that one. It was a can of  worms that could lead to places that he wasn't prepared to go. Strange things, it seemed, happened in the line of  Caine. His main concern was for Peter. "I'm sure he will," he said simply. "Are you going to be okay?" 

            "Yeah." Peter nodded. "He'll be back. He asked me to take care of his place while he's gone."

            Paul read between the lines. While he would greatly miss his father, he wouldn't go to pieces. But also, he was masking his disappointment that after two momentous events in his life, he was alone. This Paul could deal with. What were foster fathers for, after all, but to step in when natural fathers could not? Goodness. He was starting to sound like Caine, too. 

            "Annie is all wrapped up with the baby. Why don't I stick around for a few days. I'd like to see the new Shaolin priest of the family in action." 

            A real smile lit Peter's features. "That'd be great." 

            "Good." Paul grinned. "Now, if it isn't in terribly bad form, I'd like to take my son to dinner to celebrate his new status." 

            Peter's smile grew. "No, it isn't bad form. In fact, if you don't mind, I know this great new place that you'll like." 

            Paul chuckled as he followed Peter out of the room. "Wonderful."    

            Shaolin priest or no, his son could still talk a hole in the wall. The words weren't spoken with a frantic pace as he used to do in the past, but the description of the restaurant he had in mind took them all the way down the stairs. 

            Paul came to a halt on the passenger side door of the Stealth. Peter and his too-low-to-the-ground sports cars. Obviously being Shaolin hadn't changed that about him either. 

            "What?" Peter asked, apparently noting something in his expression. 

            "I was just thinking. Maybe I ought to rent a car while I'm here. . . " 


End file.
